


Cellmates

by Nevcolleil



Category: Prison Break, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: Lawman comes down from the gallows for Sam and Dean. And sticks them in Fox River.
Relationships: Michael Scofield/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural, up to 2.17 "Heart"; Prison Break, up to 1.03 "Cell Test"

Word started to spread the day before they arrived. Michael listened with growing unease – this was an unexpected development. There was no reason to believe it would interfere with his plans, but Michael didn’t like surprises. And to his way of thinking there had been one too many of those already.

“So it looks like your boy won’t be the biggest and the baddest around anymore,” C-Note said by way of greeting, holding out Michael’s Pugnac like he was waiting to shake his hand.

Michael took the bottle quickly and stashed it in his pocket, sparing a quick glance to see who was watching.

“Looks like,” he said calmly, biting back his irritation at the comment. No matter how he’d tried to prepare himself for prison, the reality often took Michael aback. No one knew yet that Lincoln was Michael’s brother – other than Sucre, because Michael had told him. But obviously it was no secret that there was some connection between himself and Linc “The Sink” Burrows. Michael told himself he could expect no better – there was no way to hide his interest in Lincoln when their only opportunities to meet were in the Yard or on PI. But the lack of privacy got under Michael’s skin all the same.

“Better watch your back, baby. I hear you got that bug-eyed J-cat out of your hair. Means you got an open bunk, and guess what they’re gonna be fillin’ come tomorrow morning?”

“Sucre’s transferring back in,” Michael replied, because he was too rattled not to. Sucre was supposed to be transferring back in. But Michael hadn’t seen him since breakfast, and the more he heard about Fox River’s newest arrivals, the sooner he wanted the issue of his cellmate settled and done with.

“Hope so,” C-Note told him. “Hate to lose a paying customer.” He saluted, a quick tap of the rolled bills Michael had slipped him to his forehead, and strode away.

Michael let out a slow breath, rolling his head back on his shoulders.

“Perfect,” he muttered. He might have been better off letting Haywire stick around, screaming about pathways to Hell.

From what Michael heard, the Winchesters were just as crazy as any con in the Whack Shack – whatever the psych tests said to the contrary. And they were worlds more dangerous.

Michael saw Lincoln that evening in the Chapel. He sat in the pew behind his brother, as usual, leaning forward slightly so they could quietly talk.

The news had spread even to The Row, and the first words out of Lincoln’s mouth were, “What do you know about the guys they got coming into Gen. Pop. tomorrow?”

Michael almost laughed, but he was certain that the urge was fueled more by near-hysteria than amusement. This was turning out to be like one of those times when he was a kid, after Mom died, when everything around him was a reminder that he’d been orphaned. Sometimes, he could almost forget. But others – times when he missed her the most – it seemed impossible to think of anything else. It was all he saw. All anyone ever talked about.

Michael forced a smirk. “Well. Hello to you, too, Lincoln. My day was just fine. How was yours?”

“You know how my days are,” Lincoln muttered. But then he shifted in his seat, half-turning like he was going to look at Michael, then thought better of it. “Same as the ones before.” Lincoln, God bless him, had a truly one-track mind, but he tried – Michael could give him that. “Louis says they’re bad news. I heard him talking to Stolte. All the bulls are on edge about it. These guys are real headliners.”

Michael sighed, leaning back in his pew.

“I heard that, too. I remember something about them from before I came in, but I wasn’t really paying attention at the time. They were wanted for a number of murders.” And assaults and various other things. Some of the crimes… were rather grisly. Michael remembered one report in particular – of a bank robbery in Milwaukee. The body of a young woman had been found at the scene, partially skinned.

Michael chewed his bottom lip.

Lincoln could sense his discomfort. This time he did turn. “You’ll be alright, Michael. Just be careful and stay out of their way. You know, Fox River’s already got its fair share of killers. It’s not like you’ve been living with a block full of Boy Scouts before now.”

Michael nodded, to show he appreciated the sentiments, but Lincoln wasn’t entirely comforting. For one thing, it wasn’t helpful to remind Michael that he was potentially going to face two of the country’s most wanted murderers… on their own turf. For another, Lincoln never could turn off the big brother vibe long enough not to sound worried shitless about Michael.

Michael’s hand on Lincoln’s shoulder was meant to calm Michael himself as much as it was his brother.

“I won’t,” he reassured, but it was a lie for the both of them.

By lights out Michael knew something was wrong. He’d seen Sucre twice, and Sucre said he’d asked about the retransfer, but the bulls kept blowing him off. Michael slept in an empty cell that night and didn’t get any work done. There could only be one reason the guards had turned down Sucre’s request to come back to 40, and that was that they’d already planned to put someone else there. Michael lay in his bunk imagining the implications of that possibility and considering his options. Mostly, though, he just scared himself with thoughts of what he’d heard in the news about the Winchesters before coming to Fox River, and what he’d heard from the other inmates since.

The next day, Sucre approached him almost the second Michael had stepped out onto the Yard.

“Dios mio, Michael. What are we going to do?” Sucre asked when he was within hearing distance.

Michael was standing near the outer fence. “The transfer didn’t go through.” He already knew the answer, but then, his words were more of a statement than a question, really.

Sucre shook his head, looking solemn. “I asked until Geary threatened to put me in the SHU. They’ve got that bunk reserved for someone else, papi.”

Michael looked to the main gate. There was no question where that someone was coming from, either.

“And it looks like that someone’s arrived,” said Charles, walking up, holding Marilyn in his arms.

Sure enough, bulls were gathering around the entrance to the main compound and the Pope was there with them. Several more inmates wandered up to the fence, as they generally did when new arrivals came through the gate.

This time there was no bus full of freshmen, however. Only a single, dark prison van, that lingered at the entrypoint just long enough for the driver to be checked out. Then it pulled forward to the drop off point and the van’s sliding door slid open. Two armed guards filed out and were joined by a third guard who’d been sitting in the van’s passenger seat.

Michael glanced in Lincoln’s direction before he turned – Lincoln was out in The Row’s fenced-off section of the grounds. Lincoln looked questioning, nodding at Sucre, but Michael shook his head. Lincoln ran a hand over his face, and even from this distance, Michael imagined he could see his brother’s expression darken.

“Come to say hello to your new cellmate, Pretty?” T-bag tossed in, from a few feet away. He and a small group of his cronies stood leering at Michael. The others snickered as T-bag continued, “That’s real nice. I’m sure he’ll really appreciate your hospitality.”

Michael looked to Sucre, who cussed T-bag in Puerto Rican under his breath. “Bad news travels fast, papi,” Sucre said. Michael nodded, turning to watch the bad news in question climb out of the van.

The Winchesters fit their police descriptions. And there’d been sketches of the older brother on the news back while they were still on the run. But Michael had never seen an actual photo of either, and even having seen those sketches, he was momentarily surprised. Various comments and noises from the inmates around him told Michael his was not a unique point of view.

“Well, well, looky there,” T-bag was still talking. “Can’t say I’m not feeling a bit hospitable myself. Crazy ain’t half hard to look at where those boys come from, is it?”

The Winchesters were attractive. The older brother stepped out first, head held high, standing tall. He had close-cut blonde hair and the sleeves of his prison issue were rolled up above muscular forearms. He wore a defiant expression on his face – not the one “fish” after fish wore coming in here, so much pretense layered over fear and uncertainty. His defiance was genuine. He didn’t look afraid – he looked angry. His were the sketches Michael had seen on tv, and the anger was probably the only thing the police had managed to translate onto paper. Otherwise, he didn’t look much like those drawings. He looked so young. And drew more than one whistle from the inmates watching him follow the Pope into processing.

The younger brother stepped out of the van second, and Michael felt a small spike of something he couldn’t quite identify. It could hardly be dread, as he’d already been steeped in that, and if either of the Winchesters were worthy of Michael’s fear it was the older one. He was the one the authorities had always talked about, and the younger brother – though his face didn’t exactly show it – had nowhere near his confidence. He kept glancing around him, then at his brother, and occasionally at his feet.

But, confident or no, the younger brother had one thing the older didn’t – about six more inches in height, and several more in shoulder width. He was a big guy, though slender. He had shaggy brown hair and three, short scars on one cheek.

Michael swallowed, resisting the urge to shuffle his feet. He couldn’t afford to look nervous – T-bag was keyed up enough already - and too much movement aggravated Michael’s limp.

“We’ll just stay out of their way,” Michael said, repeating Lincoln’s advice, when it looked like Sucre was going to say something.

“And at night? When it’s time to… you-know-what the you-know-which?” Sucre asked when the others had begun to wander away.

Michael tugged on the chain-link of the fence he’d threaded his fingers through.

“We’ll just have to play it by ear,” he said at last, trying to sound more certain than he felt. Sucre didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything more about it. Michael was grateful – needing the silence to reconsider the options he’d been considering since yesterday evening.


	2. Chapter 2

He almost felt ready by the time the van had come to a stop inside the main gates.

Then the doors slid open and Sam realized he’d been kidding himself.

He glanced over at Dean and regretted the distance between them more than ever. The guards wouldn’t let them sit too close - and Sam would give anything to touch his brother at that moment, even just to bump shoulders. Hell – he’d take a slap on the back of the head over nothing. Dean, although Sam would never – under threat of torture- tell him so, had a calming effect on Sam.

Dean glanced back. His expression was closed in a way Sam envied, but his eyes told Sam that Dean was hating this as much as he was, if not more.

Sam swallowed, remembering Dean’s words from the night before. They were sharing a cell for the first time since they’d been arrested. And you’d think they’d been apart for months, the way Sam’s throat had thickened when Dean had sat beside him on his cot and placed a strong hand on the back of Sam’s neck. Sam was doubled over, head in his hands.

“We just got to play it cool, Sammy. We’ll get out of this.”

Sam laughed – sounding not at all amused. “How, Dean? In case you haven’t noticed? We’re kind of out-numbered.” It had been them versus the U.S. Government pretty much since that shapeshifter in St. Louis had framed Dean for its rapes and murders. And the list of charges had only grown since then. Not only were the numbers uneven – so were the odds of their proving themselves innocent.

Dean obviously had no idea how they would get out of this. But, true to form, he hadn’t said as much. “Let me worry about the how,” he’d said. “I’ll come up with something.”

Sam had swallowed, embarrassingly close to what Dean liked to call “a chick-flick moment”.

“Hey.” Dean had squeezed his neck and pressed closer to Sam’s side. “After all the shit we’ve been through? No way are we going down like this. These are humans we’re talking about. We can handle humans.”

Sam had nodded, too tired and too distressed to argue. But he hadn’t believed Dean then and he didn’t believe him now. Honestly, he and Dean weren’t exactly on steady ground when dealing with humans. They rarely ever did. And Dean seemed offended by the very thought of a human getting one over on them – half the time, Sam felt ashamed of his own fear, as well – but fighting humans was just different. It wasn’t necessarily easy. Especially from a legal standpoint, which Sam wasn’t all that better off for having studied for four years. Knowing law only gave Sam a greater appreciation of how absolutely screwed he and Dean both were. Their trial had been a circus sooner than a legal proceeding. They hadn’t been able to explain what had really happened in St. Louis and Baltimore and Milwaukee. Because that would have meant explaining what they did for a living – and they’d be on their way to the Fox River Psych Ward right now if they’d gone that route.

“Okay, boys, nice and easy,” the guard nearest the door said before he and his partner climbed out.

Dean and Sam were left in the van together for less than a moment.

Dean turned to him. “Like we’re gonna run for it inside the prison. Idiots,” he muttered. Sam smiled, because that was the purpose of Dean’s comment, but he couldn’t manage more than that. His lips felt like rubber.

“Move out, now!” the guard ordered, and Dean moved before Sam could, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder til he’d climbed past, to be in front of Sam when they faced their new place of residence.

Sam released a shaky breath, swallowing once – and then again – before following Dean out into the sunlight.

It was a short walk into the building to be processed, but it seemed to take forever, and Sam’s steps felt impossibly heavy.

He could see the inmates in the Yard gathering along the fence line, watching them being led in. He could almost feel the stares. And he almost stumbled when he heard the first whistle.

Either nervousness was rushing his steps, or Dean had sensed his rising anxiety levels and had slowed down, but the gap between Sam and his brother had shortened.

“Keep moving,” the guard in back demanded. The group had been joined by a couple of prison guards and the man who’d introduced himself as Warden Pope.

Sam calmed himself and steadied his steps, trying to keep his eyes on Dean’s back, the back of the warden’s head… his own feet.

Sam felt relieved when they reached the building, but he also felt ridiculous for it. They weren’t any better off for being inside the prison facility. Just the opposite. Sam realized, with slowly approaching panic, that unless he or Dean did “come up” with something… they’d just walked into a building they were never going to walk out of.

Warden Pope was only with them for a short while – then he turned them over to two of his guards, the largest of which was in charge of the COs in the prison.

His name was Bellick, and Sam knew right away that he was going to make things difficult for them – as if they needed the help.

Of course, Dean wasn’t exactly making things easy, either. Sam knew that, deep down, Dean was just as scared as he was. But he hid his feelings well – under so many years of practice at putting a brave face on for “Sammy” that he didn’t seem afraid. He seemed cocky. Belligerent. Which he was, as well, but usually not so much so that he’d gotten himself yelled at by a prison guard within thirty minutes of meeting him.

Bellick got right up in Dean’s face and Sam held himself very still, just hoping that his idiot brother had enough sense not to push Bellick any further. Sam did not need to spend his first night in prison alone – worrying about Dean down in solitary and what might be happening to him.

Not that plenty couldn’t happen out here.

“You oughtta watch that mouth of yours, boy,” Bellick told Dean, towering over him. “It could get you some trouble around here.” Dean smirked, until Bellick began to smirk back. “’Course, if you’re really careless… it could get you more than that.” He glanced down at Dean’s mouth, and back, and his meaning was unmistakeable.

Dean’s smirk faded, and maybe Sam was the only one who noticed, but so did a little of his color.

It was the first time since loading up in the transport van that Sam didn’t feel any fear. He was too angry to feel anything else. Just the implication of-

“You got a problem, boy?” Bellick said, suddenly looking at Sam.

Or maybe not so sudden. Sam realized Bellick was standing closer to him than before.

Sam grit his teeth, and entertained a moment of idiot senselessness himself. Only the look on Dean’s face, from over Bellick’s shoulder, brought Sam back to himself before he could say something stupid – or prompt Dean into saying something stupid to save Sam the trouble.

“No, sir,” Sam said, as cooperatively as possible.

Bellick stared, from one of them to the other, for a long moment.

“Good,” he said. “Then you can bunk here, with Scofield. Lou, take this cocky little shit to sixty-three before I change my mind and put him in with Avocado.”

Sam didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he was glad that bastard wasn’t taking Dean away himself. He shared a final look with his brother before Dean followed Lou out of the cell and Bellick and the others stepped out.

“Close forty,” Bellick called, and with the sound of a buzzer the bars to Sam’s cell grated shut.

Sam had to force himself not to react to that.

“We’ll leave you alone to settle in,” Bellick said with mock pleasantness.

And then Sam was alone.

Sam got himself under control just about the time the sound of soft-soled shoes and patent leather boots pounding concrete and metal began to fill the cellblock. He braced his arms on the top frame of the bunk set against one wall of the cell and took deep breaths, telling himself what he’d told himself over and over since this thing started.

This was just like a hunt. He was more prey than predator in here – he was unarmed, and escape was impossible. But just like in a hunt, the important thing wasn’t the where or what he was fighting… the important thing was to keep a clear head while he did it, to keep a poker face.

When the buzzer sounded and all the cell doors slid open, Sam stood and waited.

Inmate after inmate walked by his door – many of them taking curious glances at him, some longer than others. Many, however, kept their eyes down and their steps quick as they passed – like they didn’t know Sam was there, or were in a hurry to pretend that he wasn’t. It was a surreal realization – that some of these men were afraid of Sam. Sam had known that his and Dean’s reputation would probably precede them… They were two of the most wanted men in America, as insane as that sounded. Their faces had been on the front of newspapers and at the top of newscasts for months now.

Knowing and seeing, however, were two different things. And Sam supposed he should feel better that some of his fellow convicts were apparently as wary of him as he was of them. But Sam was mostly disoriented. And anxious as he looked for his cellmate to appear in the crowd – tensing whenever a particularly large, or particularly aggressive-looking, con came near.

When a young man hesitated outside the cell – not glancing in, but looking at Sam directly, Sam almost started. The guy couldn’t be any older than Sam was himself. He was Dean’s height, with a swimmer’s build; dark, close-shaven hair and fair skin.

He had the most intense eyes Sam had ever seen, and his expression was inscrutable.

After a moment he entered the cell, watching Sam carefully.

Dean had told Sam what to say in here – as little as possible. This was a maximum security prison, where there wasn’t anyone in lockdown who hadn’t done something to make them dangerous. But then, Sam and Dean were here, and while they were hardly babes in the wood, they weren’t raving psychopaths either. They just wanted to keep their heads down, do their time (as little of it as possible) and get out. Sam liked to think there were more men like them in Fox River. Their stay here would certainly be that much more difficult if there weren’t.

“So, you’re Scofield,” Sam said, trying to walk that line between sounding unfriendly and sounding too friendly to his new cellmate. “I’m Sam. Winchester.”

Scofield stared at him, disconcertingly. Sam had stared at symbols before in just that way – trying to determine if they were hoodoo sigils or runic markers.

Whatever Scofield was trying to determine, he seemed to draw a conclusion. His posture relaxed, just slightly.

“I’ve heard,” he said simply. And added, “Michael,” with a nod.

Sam relaxed a bit as well. “Michael,” he repeated. “I’d say it was nice to meet you, but…” Sam looked around them, then smiled.

Michael looked surprised. After a moment, his lips twitched.

“I’ll try not to take it personally.”


	3. Chapter 3

He supposed it was the day previous of overthinking the thing that had set Michael up to be letdown when the first night passed without incident.

Or. Not letdown, exactly. Michael was happy, of course, that there had been no trouble so far. But he was on edge, as well – like a man who’d gone to the doctor to get a tumor examined, and who’d been treated for a skin rash instead. He couldn’t really believe it was over that easy. He’d approached Sam Winchester making himself at home in cell number forty-one expecting…

Well, not knowing what to expect, honestly. But if he’d expected anything, a sincere-looking smile and a pleasant greeting probably hadn’t been it.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Michael,” Lincoln said as they carried out a conversation in their usual manner. Back to back with the chain link of the fence separating Gen. Pop. from Ad. Seg. between them. “If they don’t want any trouble then don’t give them any.”

Michael nodded.

“I, for one, am glad to hear it,” Lincoln added.

Michael frowned. His eyes wandered the yard. “It isn’t that I’m not. I just-”

It was a typical day in the general populace. The major sects in the prison body kept to themselves, mixing only so much as to throw one another dirty looks and the occasional mild insult. Rattling one another’s cages just to see what came next. Abruzzi’s crew had a card game going in their favorite spot. C-Note and his boys conducted business as usual from theirs. T-Bag held an audience over on the bleachers.

Sucre was with his cousin, arguing playfully about some bit of trivia, and Sam and his brother stood against the fence on the other side of the yard, taking it all in.

Michael watched them. “They aren’t what I thought they’d be.” Though, to be fair, what Michael was thinking of the Winchesters in the last moments before their arrival was probably more the stuff of scary stories than real life – even in prison. With the stories and the buzz that had circulated that day, Michael’s imagination had begun to get the best of him.

“Yeah. Well, don’t be too sure,” Lincoln cautioned. “You’ve known the guy for a day,” he said about Sam.

“Less than that,” Michael corrected.

Lincoln tilted his head in agreement. Michael could picture it though he couldn’t see it. Funny – he’d almost gotten used to not being able to look directly at his brother when he spoke to him. Almost.

“If these guys are as crazy as some people say they are,” Lincoln said, “it might not mean anything. He could be full of frickin’ sunshine and cheer and stab you in the fucking back the first chance you give him.”

Michael shifted on his feet, kicking the ground a bit. He threw a wry look over his shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks for the pep talk,” he replied.

He saw Lincoln smile in profile. “You’re welcome.”

“I just want you to watch your back,” Lincoln added afterward.

Michael glanced at the Winchesters once more. Sunshine and cheer, perhaps, they weren’t. But they didn’t look like they were gearing up to go psycho on the next inmate that walked by either. Sam looked wary and his brother – Dean – looked…

Like he knew he was being looked at. He was staring straight at Michael.

Michael looked surreptitiously away and swallowed. “I know. I will.”

He’d try. He had a lot more reasons for doing so than he’d anticipated when he’d come up with his plan for being here.

“So. One night and one morning down. And nobody’s made you their bitch. That’s something to celebrate, huh?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest. He had the top of his orange prison jumper down, sleeves tied around his waist. Sam shoved his fists into the pockets of his.

He gave Dean a look, brow raised. “Yeah. Let’s break out the champagne.”

Dean grinned. “Nah. You know me, Sammy. I’m more of a Jack man, myself.”

Sam shook his head, looking out across the Yard. Dean’s cheer was a bit much after having spent the night not sleeping on a prison issue bunk. Even if Sam knew that his brother wasn’t nearly as carefree as his attitude suggested. Dean could grin with a near-broken jaw - crack jokes through anything.

As annoyed as Sam sometimes got because of this, the thought also made him breathe easier.

“I’m just glad Bellick left me in cell forty,” Sam admitted. Things could have been worse. Sam generally rolled his eyes at the comments Dean had started making when all of this began, about how Sam had better not drop any soap in the shower and a lot of other bullshit. But Sam wasn’t stupid, or ignorant to the stories everybody heard about what went on in prisons like Fox River. So he had been anxious over who might be put into the same cell as him.

It didn’t matter that he knew how to take care of himself if a cellmate did try to give him trouble. The Winchester method of “taking care” of trouble had a way of pissing people off. And if Sam had to piss off a cellmate with big, pissed off friends… Well. He and Dean could probably hold their own better than anyone else in this prison. But they weren’t invincible, and there was only the two of them. Bad things happened, even to hunters.

“Yeah. Kid looks okay to me. Better than the short straw I drew, let me tell ‘ya.” Dean snorted.

He was watching Sam’s cellmate, who was standing on the other side of the Yard, by the fence to the Ag Seg division.

Sam looked at him too. Michael seemed nice enough. He was quiet, anyway – hadn’t said more than a few words since their introduction, which Sam realized didn’t mean anything. Plenty of demons could be quiet… right up until the moment they attacked you. But it was a comfortable silence that had filled Sam’s cell the night before. He hadn’t gotten any sort of hostile vibe from Michael. And though demons were more his area of expertise, Sam thought he knew a thing or two about spotting hostile people. He’d made a point of developing his skills in doing it since meeting Gordon.

Who – speak of the devil – might have gotten along fairly well with Dean’s cellmate. Right up until Gordon figured out that the big goon wasn’t as smart as he was – or the goon figured out that Gordon wasn’t as sane as… Anybody, this side of a straight jacket.

“That him?” Sam asked, turning in the direction of a tall, meaty white guy with a shaved head standing near the bleachers. He and Dean had come from the same section of cells that morning when their block had been released for breakfast.

“Tiny?” Dean asked. “Oh, yeah. And he’s a barrel of fun. What with all the swastikas on the wall and the calling me Sugar.”

Sam smiled. He could only imagine how well Dean had reacted to that. He’d be concerned, too, but Tiny didn’t look damaged in any way – as he undoubtedly would have been if he’d tried anything more than namecalling with Dean.

“Swastikas, huh?” Looking again, Sam saw that all of the prisoners standing near Tiny were white, many of them with shaved heads. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten along so well with Gordon after all.

“Yep. Tiny there’s a regular posterboy for Aryan inbreeding.” Dean made a face usually reserved for expensive suits, tofu, and Volvos. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Demons don’t have anything on humans when it comes to crazy.”

Sam hummed his agreement. “I take it the skinny guy in the middle’s their leader.” Sam didn’t look at him overly long. He recognized the man’s angular face from the crowd that had celebrated his and Dean’s arrival the day before – pulling at the Yard’s chain link fence and catcalling. The man had nowhere near the body mass as some of the men gathered around him, but the respect he commanded was obvious. No one got near him, and – even at a distance – the angry superiority he projected was obvious.

“T-Bag,” Dean told Sam, not looking in the direction of the bleachers, either. He squinted in the sun, watching a game of basketball that had sprung up on the court in the Yard’s back left corner. His voice had lost the playful tone it’d had moments before. “Watch out for him, Sammy. He’s one sick puppy. Raped and killed a bunch of kids in Alabama. He’s serving two life sentences.”

Sam swallowed and nodded, disgusted. He and Dean had seen some awful things happen to children. But it was one thing to kill a Shtriga or a changeling who’d done it, and another to meet a human who was capable of such things.

“Anyone else I ought to know about?” Sam asked, watching Dean closely. There weren’t any demons or ghosts in Fox River (that they knew of) but there was plenty of danger… And Dean only knew one way of dealing with danger. Sam could practically hear him clicking into hunter mode.

“Don’t know yet,” Dean said, pushing away from the fence. “But we will.” He slapped Sam on the chest, wagging his eyebrows. “Come ‘on, baby brother. Let’s go mingle.”

Sam smirked. He hated that ‘baby brother’ crap. “After you, sugar,” he said. And then ducked so Dean couldn’t get him on the back of the head.

Once the surprise of getting a new cellmate – after having worked so hard to get rid of the last one – was out of the way, Michael realized that nothing had changed. He still had a lot of digging to do, and he was entirely too far behind on doing it. Meanwhile, the same rule applied – if he was going to do what needed to be done, he’d have to have his cellmate on board to help him. He doubted that Sam Winchester would sleep through his efforts any better than Haywire had. And he could hardly beat himself up a second time to get a new cellmate.

Still, the thought of bringing a set of prisoners with a reputation like the Winchesters’ into an escape attempt didn’t settle easily with Michael. He was relatively certain he couldn’t let Sam in on the plan without including his brother. And even if it had been just one of them, both Winchesters were rumored to have committed a number of strange and gruesome crimes. Michael didn’t like to think that he was the kind of person who would let a couple of serial killers back into the world just to further his own gains.

But if it came down to that, or letting Lincoln die for a crime he didn’t commit… Letting all of this be for nothing-

Michael sought out C-Note in the Mess. He could consider the moral implications of his choices later. The least he could do now was learn all he could about the choice he was considering.

C-Note and his crew quieted as Michael approached their table, Sucre hanging back nervously. C-Note’s gaze was speculative, but his buddies’ reactions ranged from wary to amused to downright hostile. Michael had a long-perfected poker face and was almost used to how necessary it had become in Fox River. He kept an even expression.

“I need information on the Winchesters,” he said without waiting. C-Note studied him for all of a moment and then chuckled.

“Do you now? You sure you wanna pay good coin for somethin’ you could get offa any con in here? Cause info ain’t no different than pills – it don’t come for free.” A couple of C-Note’s friends laughed with him. Michael paid them no attention.

“I want facts. Not gossip,” Michael said. “Corroborated facts. News clippings. Whatever you can get me.”

C-Note leaned back in his seat, scoffing. “What do I look like to you, Fish? Fox River Public Fucking Library? I thought you might be comin’ to me for help with your new cellie. Didn’t think a paperboy is what you’d be asking for.”

Michael understood the insinuation but didn’t acknowledge it.

“I just need information that I can trust,” he insisted calmly. “Can you get it for me or not?”

C-Note hesitated and then shrugged. “Sure I can get it. Long as you pay, it’s yours. Not my business what you white boys waste your money on.”

There was more chuckling. Michael simply nodded. “How soon?”

“I’ll find you in the Yard when I got it. One, two days tops.” C-Note pointed at him. “You just have my funds ready and I’ll provide your facts.”

Michael nodded again. He walked away, Sucre joining his side when they were out of earshot.

“I can’t believe you’re paying C-Note for a book report on your cellmate and his brother,” Sucre told him, shaking his head. “There are a lot better ways to spend your money, Michael.”

“But none that would help us with this situation,” Michael replied. They approached the Mess line, speaking in lower voices as they fell in with the other prisoners.

“Some sort of weapon sounds plenty helpful to me,” Sucre mumbled.

Michael smiled at him. “With any luck, that won’t be necessary. You know what prison talk is like, Sucre.” Michael looked out over the crowded Mess. “Some of them think that I’m crazy.” Word had gotten around that he had stabbed Maytag, and plenty of people believed it. Including T-Bag, who’d had a claim on the younger man. No one sane would touch someone belonging to T-Bag and get caught doing it. And it didn’t help that Michael’s run-in with Abruzzi and those garden shears wasn’t exactly a secret.

Sucre laughed. “That’s because you are crazy, papi,” he said.

Michael smirked. They took their trays to the nearest empty table.

“You know…” Sucre stirred his fork around in what was supposed to be a helping of mashed potatoes. “You could just ask this Sam if what they’re saying about him is true,” he suggested.

Michael nodded. But added, “You’ve got to ask the right questions to get the right answers. I need to know where to start.” Michael started in on his own lunch, setting aside one of his cartons of milk for Charles to give to Marilyn.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50 Sentences, many set in this 'verse.

1\. Motion

First he hits the wall – and then the fist attached to the angry face, but Michael is only mildly concerned; there is motion out the corner of his eye, and then Sam is standing over Michael’s attacker, who is gasping and bloodied.

2\. Cool

Sometimes it’s so hot on the cell block that they lose their shirts, turn magazines into fans – anything to stay cool; Sam tries to avert his eyes from Michael’s skin, telling himself that the tats are what draw his gaze time and again.

3\. Young

Sam keeps a weathered photo taped to his wall – he’s young in the picture, staring up at an older boy holding a shotgun; the look in his eyes hasn’t changed over the years – Michael’s seen its likeness in his own reflection, staring at Lincoln through prison glass.

4\. Last

Sam makes one last grab at self control – he bites his lip and holds his tongue, but as the shirt is peeled from Michael’s burn, Michael whimpers; Sam buries his face in the curve of Michael’s shoulder and strokes Michael’s hair, says the words he hadn’t meant to think when all this started.

5\. Wrong

When word got around, Avocado teased him just once – about going from “bein’ the Sink’s bitch to bein’ Winchester’s” and liking “e’m big and rough”; it was the wrong thing to say in Sam’s presence.

6\. Gentle

Their first time is fierce, but Sam has a soft touch - he grabs Michael and Michael steels himself, expecting pain; he gets gentleness, care, and eases into Sam’s embrace, letting Sam take control.

7\. One

Sam has a lot of reasons not to get involved – Michael is full of secrets and Sam hasn’t let anyone close since Jess’s death; he has only one good reason to take the risk anyway, but it’s enough.

8\. Thousand

Sam paces the cell like a caged animal while Michael’s in the SHU – he counts to ten to keep his calm; it doesn’t work, so he just keeps counting.

9\. King

His smile is deadly and suddenly John remembers that he is alone, that Winchester is crazy, and that he might be at the top of the pecking order in gen. pop., but that he wasn’t immune to being brought down; “The next time you touch him, Abruzzi… the last thing you won’t see is me coming for you.”

10\. Learn

Sam learns to trust Michael’s plans, but he can’t teach himself not to question the danger Michael puts himself in to follow through with them.

11\. Blur

The world is a blur and then it’s over, Sam is back in himself, back in the present; he holds onto Michael until Michael promises to let Sam take care of T-Bag, images of a future and Michael’s broken body fresh in his head.

12\. Wait

He doesn’t realize how serious it’s become until he gets word from Dean and has to tell him to wait, that he wants to do things Michael’s way; Michael won’t leave without Lincoln, and Sam… Sam isn’t leaving without Michael.

13\. Change

Sam rolled his eyes when Dean took Sam’s first boyfriend aside, in the tenth grade, and gave him the I’ll-just-be-sharpening-my-knives speech; Dean studies Michael, his tats, Lincoln – he stands closer to Michael than needed when he talks and goes into gory, unnecessary detail when describing a case – nothing has changed.

14\. Command

It isn’t usually about control – they do what feels right – but Sam does enjoy the times when Michael takes command; Michael’s genius is not limited to activities outside their bed.

15\. Hold

It’s hard to hold on – Michael’s skin is slick with sweat; Sam gives up, fists his hands in the bedsheets instead - lets the movement of their bodies rattle the bunk slightly, its protests filling the cell alongside ragged breaths and soft moans.

16\. Need

The thought of hanging a sheet is humiliating, but there’s no way around it – the need is too great, and with the first brush of skin on skin they’ve forgotten to care about the world on the other side of the white linen.

17\. Vision

The first time Sam has a vision in Michael’s presence it’s intense and it scares Michael; he holds Sam, speaks to him, calls for the bulls – the kiss comes at the last moment and startles them both.

18\. Attention

The Winchesters received a lot of media attention during the last few years of their “crime spree”, but Michael finds it difficult to reconcile the news reports with what he knows of Sam himself.

19\. Soul

They think it’s a miracle – Sam had been covered in blood when he brought Michael in, and Mahone had claimed it was a kill shot; Sam sits at Michael’s bedside and holds his hand, swallows, thinks of crossroads and kisses… and knows better.

20\. Picture

In another life Michael was a structural engineer – Sam would have been a lawyer; Michael can picture them in their separate worlds, with suits and ties and normal lives, but he isn’t certain anymore that normal would be worth it.

21\. Fool

Michael feels foolish – he doesn’t have time for this, and he can think of few worse places to find someone than prison, but he can’t help wanting.

22\. Mad

Two months after the break, Sam tells Michael the “truth” – a week later he murders a young man he believes to be a “werewolf”; Michael lays in bed that night, close to Sam, feeling the burden of responsibility for the madness he’s let loose on the world.

23\. Child

Michael asks Sam about the scars he finds, one by one, here and there on Sam’s body; Sam makes up stories for childhood wounds Michael wouldn’t understand and resists the urge to ask Michael about his own – he knows that Michael would do the same.

24\. Now

Sam doesn’t want to do the right thing – he wants to be selfish now; for once, he wants the world to sacrifice for him - but it isn’t in Sam to let the werewolf continue killing, so he does his job, tells Michael what he’s done, and prays that he won’t regret it all tomorrow.

25\. Shadow

Sam wants them to get along, but Michael can’t understand why Dean has a problem with him; Dean glares at Michael, dark shadows underneath his eyes – hating the man his little brother has sold his soul to protect.

26\. Goodbye

He doesn’t want to say it, but this…so much has gone wrong; Dean’s waiting in the parking lot, Lincoln’s waiting with LJ, and there’s been a look in Michael’s eye - since the werewolf - that makes Sam feel like Michael’s goodbye has already been said.

27\. Hide

Michael doesn’t know what secrets Sam is hiding, but he knows they’re there – he’s seen Sam fight, heard him cry out in his sleep.

28\. Fortune

The second the money is in their hands Dean starts talking about Reno, Sam frowns and Michael smirks; then T-Bag returns and everything goes downhill.

29\. Safe

They stop when it’s safe, at a rundown motel just outside the city - Lincoln and LJ are shaken, but Dean acts as if nothing’s happened (as if a demon’s a demon, even wearing a president); Sam has been watching Michael closely and Michael can barely hold back his grin – monsters are real… but so is Sam.

30\. Ghost

They meet up with a friend of Sam and Dean’s who hands everyone a rifle; he gives Michael special instructions, and laughs when Michael’s startled by the big, friendly figure who appears as soon as human hands are lain on Michael’s borrowed gun.

31\. Book

Michael usually likes to go by the books – when he makes a plan, he follows it, but Sam has made him rethink things; his original plan hadn’t accounted for Sam, and Michael finds it hard now to follow one that doesn’t.

32\. Eye

He sees them together in the Yard and feels more helpless than ever – Michael may be smart enough to take care of himself, but taking care of Michael is his job, it always has been; Michael can say anything he wants about Winchester, Lincoln is going to keep an eye on the kid until he’s sure that it’s safe to let Winchester get close to his little brother.

33\. Never

Michael has never liked surprises, and this… whatever he has with Sam is unexpected, but it’s too late to stop it; when Sam tells him that his brother Dean has been looking for a way to get Sam out, the thought makes Michael feel as though he’s run out of Pugnac.

34\. Sing

He’ll never forget the moment they finally broke through – dust and plaster filled the air, Sucre was singing in the background; Michael laughed beneath Sam’s mouth and, months away from their goal, they felt as if they’d already busted free.

35\. Sudden

It’s all so sudden it doesn’t seem real – Sam sees Mahone lift his weapon, hears the shot, but he can’t believe it’s happening until he feels Michael’s warm blood, Michael’s cooling skin, his own scream crawling up his throat and past his tongue.

36\. Stop

His head throbs from the vision, his hands shake, but he breaks their kiss and rolls beneath Michael, tells him to do it, tells him not to stop; Sam needs the warm weight of Michael on top of him, the sharp sting of Michael’s teeth, the burn of fast and frantic fucking to remind him that it’s over and keep him in the here and now.

37\. Time

Michael is in the cell and tries to keep a blank face when they bring the transfer in – he’s taller than Bellick and his shoulders fill the open doorway; “Winchester, Scoffield,” Bellick introduces, “meet your new cellie.”

38\. Wash

Showering is the worst – it hurts to move his right arm, he can’t get the bandages wet, and just the sight of steam makes the burn ache with sense memory – but when no one else is around Sam takes the washcloth and then Michael doesn’t hate the process quite so badly.

39\. Torn

Michael is torn, knowing what he should do and that he can’t do it – can’t send Sam back there, even if prison is where Sam belongs; Michael rationalizes – there’s so much blood on his hands already (thanks to T-Bag, Mahone), why shouldn’t some of it pay for his happiness?

40\. History

Sam doesn’t know the history between Michael and Lincoln (“The Sink”) Burrows, but when he sees them together questions nag at Sam jealously.

41\. Power

Michael has a pretty good punch, he’s smarter than Sam’s ever dreamed of being, and he’s capable of anything when he has to be; Sam could still take him down, but the power Michael has over Sam has nothing to do with the threat of physical danger.

42\. Bother

Dean doesn’t know why he bothers; he could talk to Sam until he’s blue in the face – Sam is going to do whatever, whoever, he wants.

43\. God

“If we can’t find Sam a way out of this, I swear to God – the moment my brother’s dead, I’m gonna make you wish it were you.”

44\. Wall

He feels bones give way in his fist and his skin break, but he punches the wall again; it hurts to breathe around the sobs he won’t let free – he knows that Sam did it to save him, but all Michael feels is damned and angry.

45\. Naked

He can’t get the image out of his head now, and he curses himself for being so careless in the shower; all he’d gotten was a glimpse, but it keeps Sam awake, and hard, in his bunk for hours.

46\. Drive

He isn’t sure how fast he’s going, and some hysterical part of himself warns him that Dean will kill if he wrecks the Impala; better to think of that than of Michael, slumped in the passenger seat, blood soaking the leather.

47\. Harm

“I don’t care what they’re saying in the Yard, Lincoln - Sam didn’t harm me, and I trust him with my life.”

48\. Precious

“Well, well, Pretty, looks like this time your boyfriend ain’t around to protect his precious little-”

49\. Hunger

Demons never die in the human sense, so they live only for pleasure; she hungers for the thrill owning not one, but two young souls could bring her, and so she says, “It’s a deal – win him and he’s yours; lose and your soul is as forfeit as his.”

50\. Believe

He feels light-headed by the time they come up for air, surreal; Michael cares for him, Sam’s known that – but to have Michael believe in him… the thought is nearly enough to make Sam giddy.


End file.
